Homewrecker (Into the Flames #1) Read Online Free PDF

be mud all caked up in there givin’ it hell.” Leaning down, Gunnar pops the hood and hops down out of the truck. “Won’t really know ‘til I can get it back to the house.” Walking around the truck, Gunnar lifts the hood. I can see his mud covered fingers checking over a few things before reaching into the front pocket of his jeans for his phone. After a few seconds, I hear him talking.
    “Hey, you up to anything today?” he asks, to whom I can only assume is Dixon. I don’t think there is another man on the face of the Earth that loves his truck as much as Gunnar, except Dixon Hale. They won’t dare drive anything else and give me shit about my car all the time. After listening to Gunnar explain, along with telling him where we are, he thanks Dixon and ends the call. Shutting the hood, he scrubs a hand over his face before dialing his phone to make another call, to what I figure is a towing company.
    “Dixon will be here in ten,” he says, climbing back into the truck and closing the door. “We’ll get it fixed.” Reaching over, he takes my hand from my knee and presses a kiss to my wrist, ignoring the dried mud.
    After a few minutes of listening to Gunnar recap the last few days of practices and how he really thinks they have a chance at the playoffs this year, Dixon’s big, black Dodge roars into the parking lot. Pulling up on my side, he rolls down his window, a grin spreading across his face as he crooks his finger at me. “Looks like you two got down and dirty, maybe we should see if your tail pipe’s clogged.”
    “Not that you’d know or anything, but I don’t come when fingered,” I say, rolling my eyes.
    “Hmmm,” Dixon says, arching a brow, his grin widening into a wicked smile. “Clearly somebody’s slackin’ then.”
    Covering my face with my hands, I turn toward Gunnar who is chuckling. “Babe, you walked right into that one.” Looking around me, he flips Dixon off. “I tend to rely on my oral skills, anyway,” he teases as the tow truck pulls into the parking lot.
    While Gunnar talks to the driver, I jump out of our truck and walk around to climb into the cab with Dixon. “I don’t know if I should laugh at the fact that you two are almost as dirty as the damn truck, or if I should be hurt because you didn’t invite me to bring the Ram up there and show you how it’s really done,” Dixon says, leaning against the driver side door and patting his steering wheel.
    “We got stuck,” I say, settling in the bench seat beside him.
    “Rookie mistake,” he huffs. “Real trucks don’t get stuck.”
    “My truck wasn’t stuck,” Gunnar grumbles, climbing in beside me, causing me to be sandwiched between him and Dixon. “It was temporarily in an unintentional sedentary position.”
    He closes the door, sliding his arm across the seat behind my head as Dixon laughs and starts his truck. Like a typical man, he taps the gas pedal, revving the engine and grinning like a kid on Christmas when it roars loudly. People in the parking lot stare at us, including the tow truck driver who is now waiting for him to lead the way.
    Sitting between the guys, I stay quiet and listen to them talk truck shit. They run through the scenarios of what is possibly wrong with it and what needs to be done. It’s all gibberish to me. I know my car starts when I turn the engine over. I know how to check my oil, and fill the tank, even handle a flat tire. Other than that, I make sandwiches and buy beer so that Gunnar and Dixon will handle whatever needs to be done, which usually results in me having two drunken man-children passed out while watching television in my living room later that night. Honestly, it’s worth it every time I climb in my bad ass classic car and drive through town without having to worry about breaking down or people staring when it makes some outrageously annoying fucking noises.
    It’s the little things, you know…
    When we pull into the driveway, Gunnar helps me down from